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Acheul admire affection ancient Augustin beauty brooklet brother called character Chaucer child childhood and youth Children's Bower Christ Christian Church Cicero common Cratylus dead death Divine Due de Saint-Simon Dugald Stewart elders eternal eyes fact faith fear feel genius Gorgias grace grave grown-up happy hear heard heart heaven holy Homer honour human humble humility innocence instance instinct kind Lactantius laugh least lesson ligion little John living look Louis XIV Melit mind nature never noble observe pass passion Pere Boutauld perhaps persons philosophers Picus of Mirandula piety Pindar Plato pleasure poet poor pray prayer pride regard religion remarks respect says St seems sense smile Socrates sorrow soul speak spirit Stones of Venice suffer sweet Tacitus talk tell thee thing thought Timaeus tion true truth virtues wisdom wise wish words young
Стр. 290 - Fear no more the frown o' the great: Thou art past the tyrant's stroke. Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Стр. 240 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Стр. 263 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
Стр. 289 - Implored your highness' pardon and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he owed As 'twere a careless trifle.
Стр. 264 - Cold is thy brow, my son ! and I am chill, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee. How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet 'my father!
Стр. 241 - She is not dead, — the child of our affection,— But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead.
Стр. 271 - Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone, Nor deem that glorious season e'er could die. Thy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn, Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky ; Waits, like the morn, that folds her wing...
Стр. 26 - Sound needed none, Nor any voice of joy ; his spirit drank The spectacle: sensation, soul, and form, All melted into him; they swallowed up His animal being ; in them did he live, And by them did he live; they were his life. In such access of mind, in such high hour Of visitation from the living God, Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired.
Стр. 115 - COME back to your mother, ye children, for shame, Who have wandered like truants, for riches or fame ! With a smile on her face, and a sprig in her cap, She calls you to feast from her bountiful lap.